The Choices We Make
by GreenLoki
Summary: This is a part of the 'Coming Home' instalment and takes place before said story. Dragged along on one of Thor's idiotic adventures to the planes of Muspelheim, Loki and Sif come to realise just how far they are willing to go when it comes to protecting the ones they hold dear – each other.


The Choices We Make

* * *

The air was stiff and smelled of sweat and blood, and Loki found himself gasping for each breath as he ducked and dodged the blows from the creatures of Muspelheim. Surprisingly, he found that it wasn't the heat that caused the perspiration to roll down his back and the sides of his face, dripping into his eyes, preventing him from seeing until he wiped it away with his sleeve. It wasn't the sound of his brother's laughter as he tore into the Muspelheim creatures, as though they weren't fighting for their very lives, but for mere sport, pleasure. Loki had learned from an early age that his dear brother enjoyed a good fight, enjoyed the energy and adrenaline that brought his body to life that spurred on instincts that came only in perilous situations. As frustrating and as infuriating as that was, Loki knew in his heart that he would never allow his brother to go on such an idiotic adventure without his keen eyes. Surely he would be able to spot trouble before they were caught unawares, such as this time. But even the gratifying satisfaction of being right had absolutely nothing to do with why Loki felt as though his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. No, it had everything to do with _her_.

He fought for space, fought the creatures back with all that he had, knowing that they would keep coming, but also knowing that he needed to see her. Deep down, Loki knew that she could take care of herself. She was a proud, strong warrior of Asgard, who had trained alongside himself and his brother to become one of the best the Realm had ever seen. Tales were spoken of her beauty and her courage, of her spirit and her lust for war. But those were only tales. Loki _knew_ her almost as well as he knew himself, and though he knew that she was resilient and brave, there was nothing to stop the worry at not seeing her face upon the warriors and creatures of Muspelheim. Uneasiness caused his stomach to churn, caused beads of sweat to form in his hands, causing his knives to feel unsteady in his grip. He wished to call upon her, shout out her name just to hear her shout his in return. At least then he would know that she was all right. But there was no time and the creatures continued to surround him and swing their weapons at him, and Loki had to force himself to pay attention to them, because in order to find her, he had to at least keep himself alive long enough.

In truth, Loki had no idea when such feelings came upon him. Perhaps it was during the battle. Perhaps it happened hundreds of years ago, when they were simply children, running along the corridors of the Palace together, laughing and joking, tricking Thor and their friends, planting flowers throughout all of Asgard. It could have happened when he had first laid eyes on her. Loki knew not when. But they were there and he knew that she felt the same. How he knew that was a mystery upon itself, but what he did know was that his heart sped at the sight of her and soared when she looked to him. He felt more himself with her at his side than he did when he was alone, for she was a part of him in every way, and he to her. A bond had been formed between them many, many, many years ago that solidified their place at each other's side, and a life without her was no life at all.

Which was why, after he slayed the creature before him and turned his gaze to the right, Loki feel his entire body freeze at the sight before him, which was why, at the sight of her blood covering the sand around her feet, did Loki lose all sense of reality, because he had never felt such fear before, had never felt such a chill as he shouted her name and took off in her direction, needing to get to her, needing to defend her, protect her, and comfort her, _save_ _her_.

"_Sif_," He screamed, because she, who above all else, captured his heart and knew him better than his own blood, threw herself in front of an arrow he had been too careless to see come for him.

* * *

She felt nothing but aggravation as she ripped her doubled-edged sword from an ashen-coloured creature with scorching brown eyes and two rows of rather sharp looking fangs. It fell at her foot, but she did not see the creature, but both Princes of Asgard. She cursed Thor and his restlessness. She cursed his boredom and she cursed herself for even going along with such a plan, knowing that this would happen, knowing that somehow he would attract all of Muspelheim to their location. Sif wondered if Thor was aware of his own stupidity or if he simply enjoyed putting himself and the lives of his brother and friends in such peril. As she was confronted by two other creatures, she cursed _him_ for not talking Thor out of his foolishness. He above all should have known what was to happen the second they found themselves on Muspelheim.

The two creatures were soon dead at her feet, and Sif moved on, forcing her way through the crowd once she had lost sight of Thor. The very idea of what the AllFather would think once he knew where they were caused her to shudder, and she had no desire to even consider what would happen if they returned the bodies of his sons. No, Sif would not allow that to happen. She pushed her way through, fighting all who opposed her until she caught sight of Fandral and Hogun, who were close by to Thor, keeping an eye on him as he swung his mighty hammer in merriment, oblivious to the obvious frustration from his allies. She cursed him and moved on. The battle was slowly coming to an end, the Muspelheim creatures not enough for Asgard's warriors, but she had yet to find him through the throes of bodies that populated the sand and gravel on the plane they were fighting on.

He was fine. She knew that he was. She _knew_, but she couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency as she searched for him, slaying all who opposed her and got in her way, because if it meant one less problem to worry about, for _him_ to worry about, then it was all for the better. The sound of metal clashing against metal was almost deafening in her ears. Her heart was pounding and she could feel her long, dark hair sticking to her neck, the sweat of the almost unbearable heat making its presence and discomfort known. But even that wasn't enough to hold her attention, because with each moment that passed, Sif felt as though she was about to scream. _Where was he?_ Surely he was still alive. He had to be. The mere thought of any other alternative had her forcing her way through with an ever greater sense of exigency.

And then he was there, fighting three creatures at once, dancing about them, swirling out of the way, and striking with such speed, Sif found herself almost mesmerised before she had to remind herself where she was and what duress they were all under. She could feel the adrenaline slowly dissipate at the sight of him moving and breathing and fighting and killing and _living_ and only then did Sif realise just how frightened she was, how terrified she was of the idea of him being out of her sight, because how else was she to watch over him and make sure he was all right, that he was okay, that he was holding his own and didn't need help.

There was a change in the air, something slight, and something that not many probably noticed, but she did. The creatures were starting to scatter, breaking away from the fight and moving away, as though they were retreating. Of course, many stayed and continued to fight, but some left while other returned and Sif only needed a moment to tell why. Archers from the hills and mountains were taking position. There were only a few, after all, Muspelheim was not well known for their weapons, but Sif found herself watching them, tracking their trajectories.

Her heart lurched in her chest when she spotted one of their targets and, before Sif was aware of what she was doing, she was moving, her legs carrying her as fast as they could, because they weren't going to take him, not _him_. She wouldn't allow it, couldn't allow it, because what was she without him? He was turning towards her and their eyes met for only a moment before Sif ran in the way and felt the arrows tip bury itself into her chest.

He screamed and she fell, his name slipping from her lips as the blood seeped from the wound, covering the sand in red. "_Loki_."

* * *

Asgard's air wasn't nearly as stifling as Muspelheim's, Loki found himself noticing. Standing before the opened window in the corridor, Loki leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his entire body stiff and rigid and they all knew well enough to keep away from him, because he was angry and he was scared and he was frustrated and hurt and he could feel his heart pounding and he wondered if hers was even doing that. Was Sif alive? Was she breathing? Was she hurting? Was she as terrified as he was? There was so much that he wanted to say to her and he feared if he would even be allowed to do that, if the Norns would take her away and prevent him from touching her and holding her and smiling at her and talking to her, and he hated himself for even allowing such a thing to happen, could feel his hands itching to close themselves into fists and just _hurt_ and _break_ and _destroy_ something, because that would be exactly what _he'd_ be if she wasn't all right.

Seconds to minutes to hours, Loki remained where he was by that window, staring at the buildings and the grassy hills and the suns and the moons and the colourful sky and the Bifrost and the Rainbow Bridge and the waterfall, but seeing absolutely nothing. And when a nurse-maid found him and called his name, Loki didn't even hear that, only found himself beckoning to her call, following her, unhearing everything she said, because none of it mattered. He just needed to _see_ her, see _Sif_. The nurse-maid led him to the room at the end of the hall and pushed the door open and she was sitting up on one of the beds, bandages wrapped around her chest, hair ruffled and face tired, and _beautiful_. He wished to take her in his arms and never let her go. He wished to tend to her wounds for however long he needed, take away her pain, and heal her with his own hands. He wished to kiss her face, her eyes, her cheeks, her nose, her lips; he wished to run his hands down the side of her neck and protect her and _love_ her and cry into her hair, because he had never felt such fear and he had never felt such anger and panic and helplessness and losing her was truly his greatest horror.

"Why did you do that?" Loki found himself demanding, his voice hard and full of hostility and he didn't even notice the nurse-maid bowing her head and retreating from the room until he heard the click of the door as it silently closed. He only had eyes for Sif and it frustrated him to no end at how calm and still she was at the face of his anger.

"Do you truly question the reasons for why I stepped in front of an arrow that was aimed at _your_ chest?" Sif asked in reply and even though Loki knew that she had saved his life, he still found himself flinching back at her words, no matter how calm they were said. He swallowed thickly and balled his hands into tight fists, as though preventing himself from lashing out and striking vials and potions from the nearby cupboard, from lashing out and _hurting_ and _breaking_ and _destroying_, because he mourned deeply for what had happened.

"You had no right to do that," Loki soon said, voice quivering just slightly due to the growing lump that had formed in his throat, suffocating and smothering him and causing his chest to hurt, and he wondered if her chest was hurting, too. "You don't know what would have happened and you took that choice from me."

"It's the choices we make," Sif returned her laughter faint. She was looking upon him as though he were a treasure, as though he was precious and angelic and other-worldly, and she looked exasperated at him, as though he didn't understand, as though he didn't get it, and Loki found himself growing angrier and angrier, because _she_ didn't get it. "Your life –"

"You _are_ my life!" Loki shouted, uncaring of who could hear, uncaring of what they would think, because they didn't matter. _She_ did. "You are my life, Sif, without you, I am nothing! Do you not see that?"

"And what do you think you are to me?" Sif replied, leaning forward on the bed, as though she wanted to get up and confront him like she would have if she were stronger, but remaining where she was. Her dark brown eyes were shimmering with feelings and sentiments and emotions that Loki was sure mirrored his own, but it hurt more, seeing them through her eyes, and Loki blinked back the tears that were trying to well in his eyes. "You have almost given your life to save my own countless of times. The fear that you are feeling is but an ounce to what I have had to experience a dozen and one already."

"So you wish to punish me for wanting to protect you?" Loki shot, his voice a jumble of anger and disbelief and relief and sorrow and bewilderment, even though he understood what she was saying, he was unable to stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

"You fool," She shook her head and reached her hand out, and despite the maelstrom of emotions that were threatening to send Loki over the breaking point of what he could handle, he immediately stepped forward without a second's thought, and took her offering hand, feeling another wave of emotion take over him at the strength in her grip. She was _okay_. "I am no maiden, no damsel, and I can take care of myself just fine," She ran her thumb over his knuckles, as though she could sense his need to _hurt_ and _break_ and _destroy_, soothing him before the damage could even be inflicted. She smiled up at him and Loki could feel his heart beating as he leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes falling shut when he felt her warm breath ghost over his face. "But I wish to protect you just as much as you wish to protect me, because while I am precious to you, you are more so to me."

So Loki closed the distance between them and pressed a kiss to her face, her eyes, both cheeks, and nose, and then folded his lips over hers, feeling her pulse thunder furiously from where he reached up and cupped her jaw, his thumb resting against her neck. Losing her … it would kill him. But losing _him_ would kill _her_, and he realised then, as their lips worked in such unison together, that no matter what either thought, neither would hesitate. If it meant the difference between life and death, one without the other, they would fight and kill and sacrifice, because they were one, two hearts beating to the same soul that powered them and kept them close.


End file.
